


Tied Up

by Sarren



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cliche, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne and Jack get tied up together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/gifts).



> Yuletide Treat because if ever a fandom was perfect for cliche fic, it's this one!
> 
> Big thank you to penniform for stepping up to beta at short notice.

It was probably telling that Jack had almost lost count of the amount of life-or-death situations he’d found himself in since Miss Fisher had burst into his life, wafting perfume and gunpowder in her wake. It wasn’t even the first time they’d been tied up and thrown into a dingy little room together. At least this time there was a threadbare bed in the corner, for which Jack was grateful. Because what made this situation stand out from previous occasions was the way they’d been forced to strip to their underwear and put their arms tightly around each other. The man had held a gun on them from a safe distance while his wife wound a thin rope tightly around their bodies from shoulders to ankles. Then they’d watched, helpless to move an inch, as the Beatons, if that was even their real name, had changed into their clothes, leaving their own clothes discarded on the floor. Beaton had smiled gleefully at the discovery of Jack’s police badge.

After the Beatons had made their escape, no amount of squirming had shifted the rope any significant amount. Jack was just grateful that he wasn’t the only one left red-faced and breathless after the attempt as they both did their best to avoid each other’s eyes, not easy given their proximity.

“On the bright side, it’s not the worst situation we’ve ever found ourselves,” Miss Fisher announced, tilting her face up to smile wryly at him, blowing a wisp of hair from her face. Jack felt the breath against his ear and shivered.

He had to repress a smile at her inevitable optimism. “How do you reckon that?” 

“Well they didn’t actually kill us—”

“You’re assuming they’re not coming back.”

“They just wanted us out of the way while they made their escape. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?” Miss Fisher shrugged, or tried to, the end result merely served to shift her upper body slightly against his. Jack was doing his utmost to ignore the fact that Miss Fisher was clad only in a flimsy silk slip over her brassiere. His own cotton underwear felt equally thin, and his body insisted on reacting to the feel of her soft, womanly curves pressed against him, despite his attempt to focus on the seriousness on their predicament.

They’d been left standing in the middle of the room. Jack had resisted the inevitable as long as possible, and Miss Fisher had, to his surprise, not made the obvious suggestion. Instead, she had stood stoically against him, but eventually, he could feel her sagging against him. The small of his back had been aching not inconsiderably by then, so he’d given in and suggested they lie down on the bed. It had involved the sort of awkward manoeuvring that he’d found embarrassing, but had at least brought a sparkle of mischief back into Miss Fisher’s eyes. That had almost made it worthwhile; he found it didn’t sit well with him when Miss Fisher was subdued. 

Now they were lying on their sides, breathing each other’s breath, and Jack was keeping his hands clenched into fists for the sake of decency, because otherwise he’d be touching Miss Fisher’s bottom, and while he had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Fisher would only find it amusing, he didn’t think his own blushes would stand it. 

“I don’t suppose you called for assistance,” she said, after a while, “and the ever loyal Constable Collins is even now racing to our rescue?”

Jack raised his eyes to the heavens. When Miss Fisher had rung and asked him to meet her at Café Florentino he hadn’t really expected it merely to be for the pleasure of his company, but he hadn’t anticipated being immediately whirled into pursuit of a husband and wife con artist team, who’d been fleecing clientele of the local restaurants. “When exactly would I have had the chance, Miss Fisher?” 

“No, of course not,” she agreed, “I’m sorry.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Jack’s arm, trapped under their bodies, was beginning to go numb and he suspected Miss Fisher’s must be too. He flexed his hands and wrists as much as he could within the rope, hoping that Miss Fisher would politely ignore the brush against her posterior. He couldn’t help but feel her deep intake of breath against him and opened his mouth to apologise.

“Jack,” Miss Fisher said, and there was a note of insistence in her voice, “do that again.”

“I hardly think this is the time or the place,” Jack said, a bit too firmly, because he was tempted. 

Oh, he was tempted.

“I have a knife.”

“You have a—” Jack sighed, but his pulse was leaping with anticipation. “Of course you do.” Now he remembered. That case with the Jewish booksellers last year—the message hidden within the book binding, the artless way she’d flipped up her skirt to withdraw the short knife from her stocking.

“You know me so well.”

“Too well,” Jack grumbled, but he didn’t mean it and Miss Fisher knew it, smiling saucily at him. “Why didn’t you mention you had your knife earlier?” Jack recalled their embarrassing and futile writhing earlier with rising indignation.

“You couldn’t reach it, then.”

“But now I can?”

“Our positions have shifted just enough, I think. Plus,” she added, and her smile was positively wicked now, “I had not realised just how…long…your fingers are.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“We’re going to become a bit more intimate than I’m afraid you are ready for, Jack.”

Jack’s mouth was dry. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’re going to have to slide your hand between my thighs.”

God. The thought of it. His cock, which had thankfully returned to a quiescent state after their earlier attempts to free themselves, stirred again. There was no help for it though. They’d been here too long, who knew if the Beatons really intended to return.

If Miss Fisher had noticed his involuntary response she was politely ignoring it. “While we were undressing I was able to discreetly move the knife so it wouldn’t show under my slip,” she said, as though this were something not at all out of the ordinary.

Jack tried to move his wrist but it was held firm by the rope. Miss Fisher frowned reprovingly at him. “Jack, this is no time for delicacy. I give you my permission to do whatever you need to in order to reach that knife.” She smiled again. “Pretend I’m Rosie, if it helps.”

“God, no.”

“Hugh, then.”

“Phryne.”

“Sorry.”

Trying to ignore the way his cock was swelling again, Jack pushed the palm of his hand against Miss Fisher’s bottom, feeling the flesh give enough to slide his fingers along the join of her thighs. He pressed between them, the flimsy silk material of the slip just loose enough that his fingers were sliding down her inner thighs now. Their bodies were pressed closer than ever now as he inched down, holding his breath. He knew that Miss Fisher couldn’t help but feel his erection pushing against her. She was breathing deeply against him, and when he risked a glance up at her she was staring at him, eyes huge. He swallowed hard.

“Jack,” Miss Fisher whispered, just as his fingers touched the knife.

It was a slow, awkward business. He was able to grasp the hilt with the ends of his fingers but it was hard to keep a grip on, through the silk. The slip wasn’t that long, he remembered clearly; despite his attempt to be a gentleman he hadn’t entirely been able to avoid looking as Miss Fisher disrobed. He inched the material up with his fingers, until the knife was exposed, then further still, sliding the knife up out of the stocking and into his palm. Then it was a matter of turning it outwards in his hand, fearful he’d cut Miss Fisher instead, and starting to saw through the ropes. 

Slowly but surely their ties loosened. Once Jack’s arms were free it didn’t take him long to cut through the rest of the rope tying their upper bodies together. He thought freeing their legs was going to be more challenging, but with a sunny smile Miss Fisher had taken the knife and, demonstrating a quite intriguing degree of flexibility, cut them loose in no time.

“Right,” said Miss Fisher, when they’d stood up and stretched their cramped muscles. She picked up the villains’ discarded clothes and handed him the suit, then matter-of-factly slipped into the drab cotton frock and shoes, both of which looked to be uncomfortably tight, but Miss Fisher made no complaint. The suit fitted him somewhat better, but was none too clean. He wrinkled his nose at the faint stale odour.

Miss Fisher was at the door, opening it, preparing to dash through in pursuit of the criminals, continuing their adventure. She was letting him off the hook, Jack realised, just as she always did. No doubt she would never mention today’s intimacy, never mention the way she fitted so perfectly in his arms.

He caught her elbow. Miss Fisher turned, looked up at him with wide inquiring eyes. He could tell it didn’t even occur to her that he might want to talk about what had happened. She had no expectations of him. That didn’t sit well with him, he found. He released her elbow, letting his hand slide down to gently take hold of her wrist. Raising it to his lips, he gently kissed the thankfully minor rope burn left by their initial struggles to free themselves. He looked up. Miss Fisher was staring at him with an arrested expression, her mouth parted slightly. She looked like she was holding her breath. With his other hand he caught hold of her other wrist and raised that to his lips too, pressing his lips to the reddened skin.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Much,” she breathed.

He let go of her, only to slide both arms around her waist, stepping in close to her so their bodies pressed together.

Miss Fisher blinked up at him. “Really, Jack?”

“Any objections, Miss Fisher?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, looking a little bemused. “I merely expected you would wish to immediately set off in pursuit of the Beatons. They do have your badge, after all.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said equitably. “Five minutes won’t make any difference. It occurs to me that right now there is no possibility of interruption by dastardly villains, earnest constables or meddling aunts.”

Miss Fisher tilted her head and raised her eyebrows comically, as though listening for imminent interruptions. Jack waited patiently. After a moment, she smiled and slid her arms up his chest and clasped them around his neck, melting into him, and Jack bent his head and kissed her, finally.


End file.
